


Machine of a Dream

by misanthropiclycanthrope



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Driving, Idiots in Love, M/M, Pining, even if they don't realize it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-14 22:57:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19282918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misanthropiclycanthrope/pseuds/misanthropiclycanthrope
Summary: After suffering an eternity (or what feels very much like an eternity) of complaints from Aziraphale about his driving, Crowley decides it’s high time the angel learns to drive and takes it upon himself to teach him.





	Machine of a Dream

**Author's Note:**

> For the purposes of the fic, I was imagining the 1933 3 ½-Litre Bentley Crowley drives in the show as opposed to the 1926 model in the book. I’m sure it makes no real difference unless you're Jeremy Clarkson, but there you have it. And speaking of details, I don’t happen to own a vintage Bentley, so please forgive any glaring inaccuracies.

“I’m not sure this was such a good idea.”

“It was your idea, angel.”

“I seem to recall that it was, in fact, you who—”

“Eh, technicalities. Never cared for ’em.” Crowley killed the argument before it could blossom into the kind of debate that could last a couple of centuries, or at least until they both forgot what it was they had started arguing about in the first place. “We’re here now.”

“Yes. I suppose we are.” Aziraphale wrung the wheel with nervous hands, glanced out across the empty expanse of barren, cracked tarmac as if to check they were definitely alone. They were. Just the two of them, the Bentley, and the disused airfield Crowley had found for just this occasion. While he had no qualms about leaving destruction in his wake, the angel had enough to fret about without adding the guilt of innocent casualties to the mix.

“And I don’t let just anyone behind the wheel of my car.”

That got a reaction, the admission cracking through the anxiety and leaving something ridiculous and soft in its wake. Aziraphale looked across at him with the reverence that befit such a privilege, his hands now caressing the steering wheel as if it were something precious.

And because things were beginning to slip into mushy territory, Crowley thought it best to move swiftly along. He made a ‘get on with it’ kind of gesture, avoiding the angel’s stupidly pleased gaze. “So…”

“Right. Yes.” Nerves instantly returning, Aziraphale busied himself checking the mirrors for the hundred-and-eighth time, fussing about as if the controls might have all decided to swap places just for fun. Or perhaps he was hoping the world might actually end if he put it off long enough, and he would be let off the hook.

No such luck.

“You remember what I told you?”

Aziraphale puffed up with offended indignation. “Of course!”

“Sssso,” Crowley prompted, doing a poor job of reining in his impatience. “Depress the clutch.”

“Oh, yes. Right. Of course.” There was a pause, and a distinct lack of clutch depression. “Remind me, which one is—”

“Left foot.”

Finally, they were getting somewhere. Not with any speed, but even this little progress was better than the previous nothing. Several minutes and more than a few additional instructions later, and Aziraphale was almost ready to go.

Almost.

Crowley rolled his eyes. The gesture was lost on Aziraphale, for not only were his eyes hidden behind his sunglasses, but the angel’s attention was fixed firmly on the road in front of them. Not entirely necessary considering they still weren't actually moving.

“Give it more gas.”

A feather would have exerted more force on the pedal than Aziraphale's foot.

“A little more.”

A tiny change in the engine's tone, impossible to detect had Crowley not possessed demonically enhanced hearing.

“Oh, for the love of Sa—”

The rest of his words were lost beneath the sudden roar of six cylinders bursting to life, revving furiously, and the surprised gasp from Aziraphale as he all but leapt from his seat.

“LESS!”

The thunderous growl died back to a more sedate rumble, and after a little trial-and-error, Aziraphale finally found the sweet spot. Through some kind of minor miracle (but, surprisingly, not an _actual_ miracle) the car was in motion. At a snail’s pace, but still.

“I’m driving!”

He sounded absurdly proud of himself, and whatever sarcastic remark had been bubbling up died in Crowley’s throat. In its place, a fond smile crept free, curling up at the corner of his mouth. Thank Satan there was no one around to see.

“Yes, you are.” It sounded far too affectionate, so he added an eye roll for good measure. “Pathetically slowly, but you are definitely driving.”

Aziraphale only went and pouted, and Crowley thought it suddenly necessary to look away, to check out the windows, just in case some sort of obstacle had appeared out of thin air and was lurking around on the off chance they wanted to encounter a little danger to spice things up. It was all clear, and probably also safe to turn his attention back to his student.

“Let’s try going a little faster.”

Aziraphale didn’t look particularly enthused about that idea. “Are you sure that’s wise?”

“Nope,” Crowley agreed happily, popping the p, “but it’s _fun_.”

There was a bit of uncertain flustering from the angel, which Crowley blithely ignored and proceeded to supply further instructions. Surprisingly (or, perhaps, not so surprisingly) Aziraphale followed every one, letting Crowley direct him, and if Crowley had to sprawl across Aziraphale’s lap it was only to help him find the gear stick when he inevitably forgot to shift up a gear, and if his hand lingered a little longer than strictly necessary atop Aziraphale’s on the knob? Well, he had always been thorough in matters concerning his Bentley.

Once Aziraphale seemed to have his hands and feet coordinated, Crowley decided it was time to take the escapade just that little bit further. He wouldn’t exactly label it a temptation, but it certainly gave him a similar sort of thrill.

“I think it's time to open her up, don’t you?”

When Aziraphale only frowned in confusion, either genuinely not comprehending or choosing not to understand, Crowley elaborated, “Put your foot down, step on it, give it some welly. Or, if you’re feeling particularly daring, _floor it_."

“Oh my.” Aziraphale’s profile was a study in alarm. “I don’t think that’s a very good idea.”

“You trust me, don’t you, angel?”

Aziraphale opened his mouth to respond, but caught the words on his tongue before they could escape. It wasn’t really the done thing, an angel admitting to trusting in a demon. But nor was it easy for an angel to lie, and after all this time there wouldn’t really be any point in trying. “You know I do.”

Crowley ignored the warmth that definitely did _not_ bloom in his chest, and swept his arm encouragingly forward, indicating the invitingly open strip of old runway before them. “Okay then, pedal to the metal.”

“Right.” Aziraphale drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes, then quickly opened them again when he realised what a terrible idea that was. “Hold on to your hat, as they say.”

The sudden acceleration threw Crowley against the back of the seat, momentary surprise swiftly replaced by the thrill of speed, and he laughed in unconcealed delight as they barrelled along. He glanced across at Aziraphale, eyes wide and clinging to the wheel for dear life, and yet so brilliantly alive with excitement he was almost glowing.

Crowley pulled his glasses from his face, quite certain the Bentley would keep them safe enough that he could watch Aziraphale rather than the road ahead, for he couldn’t have looked away if he tried. The mixture of nervous fear and heady joy radiating from the angel did weird things to Crowley’s stomach, but it wasn’t an unpleasant feeling. He had long ago come to associate it with Aziraphale’s smile, and almost equally as long ago decided to stop fighting it.

When Aziraphale risked a glance at him, Crowley beamed back, a full power, toothy grin that stood no chance of being restrained. Aziraphale’s responding smile was a little more unsteady, but only because all his energy was focused on keeping the machine under some degree of control.

He managed a successful turn, pitching Crowley sideways until he was pressed tight against Aziraphale’s side and realising that there were some benefits to being a passenger and just enjoying the ride. When he had to straighten up again, he missed the angel’s warmth. Just a little.

Eventually, he directed Aziraphale to brake – “ _Gently_ , angel!” – and braced himself against the dash as the car slowed to a jerky, juddering halt.

There was a moment of still, stunned silence before Aziraphale prised his fingers from their white-knuckled grip on the wheel and placed them safely on his thighs. They may have been trembling a little.

“Goodness. That was rather exhilarating, wasn’t it?”

There was a flush of pink dusted across Aziraphale’s cheeks, his eyes still wide and bright and a little dazed and it must have been the thrill of speed still thrumming through the veins of Crowley’s corporeal form that left him feeling like his skin was buzzing, the fading traces of adrenaline lighting like sparks across every nerve, because it absolutely was not the delight dancing in Aziraphale’s eyes. Nope.

Because he didn’t trust himself not to say something stupid, embarrassing, he grinned a wicked grin and asked instead, “Want to drive home?”

“Oh my, no.” Aziraphale was already groping for the door handle. “I’ll leave that to you, my dear.”

Crowley caught his own smile in the mirror as he slid across into the vacated driver’s seat and waited for Aziraphale to retake his usual place beside him.

_You go too fast for me, Crowley._

But maybe Aziraphale was starting to catch up.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is taken from Queen’s ‘I’m in Love with my Car.’ Obviously.


End file.
